


100 Tales: Short-Shorts

by Velyrhorde (Ryan_Writes)



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryan_Writes/pseuds/Velyrhorde
Summary: Some of the shorter "100 Tales" stories I've come up with





	100 Tales: Short-Shorts

**100 Tales: Blue**

"Is it supposed to be blue?

"Shaddup, Kid, I'm working."

Hannibal Heyes carefully tipped a smidgen more powder into the bowl. He held his breath, not taking his eyes away from the mixture. When nothing untoward happened, he gingerly gave it a few swipes with the spoon.

It was still blue.

He wasn't about to admit it to the Kid, but he had no idea how that had happened. He'd followed the directions meticulously. They had said nothing about what color to expect.

"Kid, we're having blue pancakes, so deal with it."

 

**100 Tales: Purple**

"Absolutely not, Kid!"  
"Heyes, you lost the bet. You gotta go through with it."

"No way! The gang is gonna find out, and there goes my authority!"

Kid Curry crossed his arms and glared.

"Aw, Kid, I'm begging you. Don't make me!"

A line appeared between the Kid's brows. Hannibal Heyes raised both hands.

"OK, dammit, OK."

Much rustling followed, accompanied by a few grunts, groans, and one "ouch" from Hannibal Heyes. At last, the man in question stood sheepishly beside the bed. He stood motionless, with his head down and his arms stiff at his sides. To the Kid's secret amusement, a slight blush colored the high cheekbones.

"Fine, you got what you wanted! Now can I put my shirt back on?"

"Oh no, Heyes, the deal was you gotta wear that all day, remember?"

Much cursing followed, accompanied by quiet chuckles from Kid Curry. "Sorry about the pin," he said to his partner. "I thought I got all of them out."

Hannibal Heyes sniffed and pouted. He glanced up at Kid Curry from beneath his bangs. He put on his Sad Puppy Dog expression. Why did the man keep trying what he called his "faces" when he knew the Kid saw right through them?

After a moment, Heyes sighed. His shoulders sagged. He shuffled over to the water basin like an old man. He peered into the mirror. Kid Curry smiled.

Hannibal Heyes looked at himself for a long moment. He stepped back from the wall and looked again. He turned one way, then the other. He raised an eyebrow.

"You know," he muttered. "I think this color looks kinda good on me."

Kid Curry rolled his eyes. "Heyes, ain't nobody gonna think you're a nancy boy just because you've got on a purple shirt."

**100 Tales: Black**

The Kid was starting in on him again. Hannibal Heyes tried to rein in his temper and not snap, but his partner was trying his patience.

"Kid, forget it. I had this hat since we met. I ain't getting rid of it."

"That's my point. That thing's nearly four years old. And it's not like either of us could afford a good hat back then."

"This was the first hat I ever bought. It's fine."

The Kid glanced at Heyes from the corner of his eyes. "You know, an outlaw who can't even afford a decent hat's not gonna get much respect."

Heyes narrowed his eyes. "You're getting on my last nerve, partner."

"Just try this on and look in the mirror."

Hannibal Heyes put hands on hips. "Kid, that is a black hat. I am naturally dark-complexioned. People with dark hair and eyes need a light colored hat to play up their color. This is a well known fact in the fashion world."

"Humor me."

Heyes snatched the hat from the Kid's hands. He glared at it. What the hell was so wrong with his comfortable old brown hat anyhow? So it had a couple of threadbare spots ... maybe a little torn place or two. And there was that bullet hole from when Kyle was target shooting. He turned the hat in his hands.

It was stylish, no question about that. The band was brown leather, with random silver designs fastened onto it. They kinda reminded him of suits in a deck of cards. The only problem was the damn color.

He glanced back at his partner. The Kid crossed his arms and tilted his head. Heyes rolled his eyes. He clapped the hat onto his head and stomped over to the store's mirror.

"Now, young fella, that there hat looks fine on you." The shopkeeper, alert to a possible sale, followed him across the floor. Of course, he might just suspect the two of them of plotting to steal something.

Hannibal Heyes ignored the man and stared at his reflection through narrowed eyes. Just as he'd thought, he looked -- Heyes widened his eyes and took another look. Actually, he looked pretty damn good in black.

 

**100 Tales: Sun**

They topped the rise to find another dry gully. Nothing but mesquite and sagebrush as far as they could see.

"These horses ain't gonna hold up much longer," Kid Curry muttered. Heyes grunted.

The sun beat down on them like a blacksmith's hammer. It was nearly two days since that trickle of water that barely deserved the name of creek, and their canteens barely had enough water for the rest of today. The horses shuffled across the dry ground, heads down. Heyes and Curry had been walking for hours, leading the exhausted animals.

"Kid?" The Kid grunted.

"If we live through this, remind me to kill that prospector!"

The man's "foolproof directions" might just get them killed before it got them to the next waterhole. They paused to let the horses breathe, and took a couple of breaths themselves. The next time, Heyes thought, or maybe the time after next, they'd be too damn tired to start moving once they'd stopped. And that would be it.

He took off his hat long enough to drag a sleeve across his sweaty face and cast a glare at the murderous sun. The orb showed not one sign of caring. Heyes wouldn't have been surprised to see a couple of buzzards circling over their heads, but evidently they didn't look that far gone yet.

"C'mon, guys," he muttered, tugging at the reins. "We gotta keep moving."

The horses took some prodding, but eventually fell back into their shuffling gait, letting out the occasional long-suffering sigh. Heyes and Curry weren't moving much better. The four of them hit the next rise like four old men struggling up a flight of stairs. Suddenly, the horses jerked their heads up, and their ears flicked forward in unison. The Kid's horse let out a piercing whinny. To Hannibal Heyes' amazed joy, the call was answered. He found the energy to top the rise, and shaded his eyes.

About half a mile away, beneath blessedly green cottonwoods growing beside a river that looked to Heyes like the River Jordan, a group of cowboys gathered around their chuck wagon. Heyes saw one throw up a hand in greeting, and felt his lips crack open as a grin spread across his face. He looked up at the sun.

"You didn't beat us this time, old man," he said. "Race you to the river, Kid!"

 

 **100 Tales: Thunder** :

Hannibal Heyes crouched behind the hay bale in the sheepherder's hut. A day spent in the dusty outbuilding, behind first one bale of hay, then another -- then, for variation, behind a bale of wool -- was putting a definite crimp in his plans. He should have been at the Spencer's Corner poker table by now, with a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. By gor, when a man couldn't ride across the open range without some proddy fool taking a shot at him, it was time to retire to the big city.

First, it was the cattlemen, claiming he was spying for another ranch. Then, when he'd finally outpaced that bunch, he'd run smack into the sheepherders, who lit out after him for being a cattleman on their land.

Another shot buzzed over his head, banging against one of the mysterious sheep-ing tools strung along the wall. Hannibal Heyes knew less about sheep than he knew about China. And the only thing he knew about China was that they had tea. The tool -- it looked like a giant pair of scissors -- hit the ground point down only inches from Heyes' left foot. 

Pulling his foot closer to the hay bale, he debated rolling a smoke. He'd thought about firing back, when he first ducked into the old stone building, but the sheepherders had holed up among the trees at the edge of the mountain meadow, and he'd wasted six bullets before he gave it up. Maybe the Kid could have hit something between the tree trunks, but Hannibal Heyes wasn't the Kid.

He really wanted a smoke. The problem was, the old hut was so full of hay dust that if he scratched a lucifer into flame, he might blow himself sky high. Hannibal Heyes sighed. Might as well wish for a bottle of good whiskey while he was wishing.

The sound of thunder came from outside the hut. Hannibal Heyes grinned like a coyote licking dew off a prickly pear. One deep roll, without a pause, that seemed to go on forever. Heyes stood up and brushed the dust off his clothing. He slapped his hat against one leg. The thunder died away, and in the silence, he could hear frantic hoof beats heading into the distance.

The door to the hut rattled beneath a hard fist.

"About time you caught up with me," Hannibal Heyes said. His partner thumbed bullets into the empty slots in the pistol's cylinder. It could have been a trick of the light, but the palm of his glove seemed to smoke from fanning his gun.

"You owe me a box of cartridges," Kid Curry replied.

 **100 Tales: Rain** :

"Ya know, Kid, I sort of like a rainy afternoon." Hannibal Heyes propped his boots on the porch rail and leaned his chair back. Kid Curry said nothing, only puffed a plume of blue smoke towards the sky and thumped the ash from the end of his cigar. Heyes blew a smoke ring at his partner.

"You and your damn smoke rings."

"You're just jealous coz you can't do it."

At that moment, Wheat thundered onto the porch, accompanied by the newest recruit. The two men had one fist clenched in the front of the other's shirt, and the other fist punching whatever body part was handiest. Kid Curry raised his eyebrows and glanced at Heyes.

"Saw that coming," he muttered, ducking a wild punch.

"Alright, boys," Heyes said. "Cool it down or take it somewhere else."

The thumping continued unabated. Heyes sighed. He'd been enjoying the rare quiet, too, just his partner and his cigar. He let his boots thud loudly to the floor and stood up, slowly and menacingly. The two kept pounding one another. Heyes traded a glance with the Kid. Dammit, those two should have had enough by now.

Wheat was bleeding from a cut above one eye, and his bottom lip was swollen like it had been beestung. The new guy -- Kyle Something-Or-Other -- had a nosebleed, and one eye swollen nearly shut. Both of them were weaving on their feet. The clenched fists now seemed more to hold themselves up instead of holding the other man where they could reach them.

Hannibal Heyes put on his Boss Face and said in his most authoritative voice, "OK, boys, time to let up. You've made your point."

They ignored their leader -- Heyes cast an astonished and aggrieved glance at his partner - and kept trading increasingly weaker blows. Hannibal Heyes watched them for another moment, then shrugged.

"Kid, I guess we're gonna have to find another spot to relax."

"Heyes, look out!"

Kyle threw a haymaker at Wheat and missed. The two men flailed wildly, then careened across the porch directly into Heyes. Heyes grabbed helplessly for the railing, but the two clowns hauled him right off the edge with them -- right into the biggest mud puddle in the yard. And they kept fighting!

Hannibal Heyes glanced up from beneath the two idiots, trying to keep his head above the mud. His traitorous partner was doubled over on the porch, roaring with laughter.

That was it! Hannibal Heyes grabbed a shirt collar and hauled until he could see a pair of bleary eyes behind a brown mask of mud. He threw his best punch at the jaw, and the man reeled back against the porch and collapsed into a heap. Heyes repeated the move on the other mud-covered fool.

"You two asses owe me a Cuban cigar," he growled. "And you're both on guard duty until further notice -- night shift!" Weak groans greeted this pronouncement.

Heyes squelched his way back up onto the porch and shot the Kid a glare. "I hate rain!" he muttered.


End file.
